


Christmas Omens

by Everard_Digby



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Christmas AU, Hallmark Christmas, Happy Ending, Love at First Sight, M/M, also they're idiots in love, kiss in three days, oh there's a lot of yearning in this one, they're tragically human
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-01 21:50:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20265055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everard_Digby/pseuds/Everard_Digby
Summary: Anthony J Crowley is a smooth talking negotiator whose just been sent to Tadfield to convince one Mr Azira Fell to sell his bookshop to make room for a highway. The job is proving to be much more complicated than he thought. Tadfield and it's bizarre inhabitants just started their annual Christmas Fair, a  centres old tradition that is actually written in the towns charter.Will he succeed? will he fail? will the towns eccentric inhabitants worm their way into his fast moving city heart? will he find love?  of course he does. It's a Christmas Movie AU.Aziraphale as Azira Fell, beloved kind and stubborn bookshop owner.Crowley as government negotiator.Anathema and Madam Tracy as Azira's meddling best friends .Gabriel as selfish and stupid leader of local government.R. P. Tyler as neighbourhood watch and interfering gossiper.The Them as remarkably clever kids who get things their own way a lot.special thanks to Ironed_orchid for ironing out my hatred of the possessive apostrophe and my excessive love of commas, as well as many other good edits.  You're the best.





	Christmas Omens

Crowley’s job was pretty straightforward: convince Mr Fell to sell his bookshop to make room for a highway. Convincing people to do things that they might not think to do on their own had been his job for a while. He was good at it, and highly paid for it. All he had to do was find the right questions to ask, and then people more or less convinced themselves. This wasn’t the kind of job he could screw up. 

Pulling into Tadfield, his first clue that things might be a bit odd about this place was the ridiculous amount of Christmas decorations that covered every available bit of public space. He was used to his dark vintage Bentley standing out wherever he drove, but this was the first time he felt understated. Tadfield was tacky. It was gawdy. It was so overdone. His car stood out like a black void among the color and the clash of it all. This, Crowley thought, was going to be a headache. 

Still, this job was for the money. And there certainly was a lot of it to be had. Apparently, the bookshop owner had caused a bit of trouble for the negotiators who had gone before him. The retired after one meeting with him. Crowley wondered if he was actually getting to be paid more than the bookshop owner. There’s no way anybody in their right mind would refuse to sell a small rural property if they were being offered this much money. 

First stop was the local bed and breakfast. It was staffed by an awkward earnest young man who took his details with pen and paper and handed him a key with a large wooden tag and with his room number written above some Christmas holly. 

Crowley learned that his name was Newton Pulsifer. He was recently married, considered taking his wife’s name but felt too self-conscious to go through with it, and his new wife was working the fortune telling booth at the Christmas fair. He learned a lot about the Christmas fair actually. Today was the first of three days, ending on Christmas eve, and was a pretty big deal to the locals. The only thing he learned about the services offered by the bed and breakfast, was that the computers were broken and if anything young Newton looked relieved about that. 

The bed and breakfast itself was more or less a re-branded motel, where the rooms are stacked close together all opening to a drained and non-operational swimming pool. The re-branding involved a lot of country crafts, dutifully matching the Christmas theme, covering every space it possibly could. The end result was a tacky looking motel with a personality crisis. 

He prayed that his room would at least be neater, a bit more sterile. It was not. Happy snowmen smiled at him from the curtains, and red and green holly from the bedspread. There were small wreathes on every door, even the cupboards. Teddy bears dressed as Mr and Mrs Clause stared at him blankly from the writing desk. Doilies on everything that could have possibly taken a doily and even these had a design that somehow resonated ‘Christmas’. Crowley picked up the bears and doilies and whatever small items he could to hide away in the closet and thought to himself that he was in hell. 

Next stop was the town hall. It stuck to the Christmas theme, but to Crowley’s relief appeared to have been decorated by someone with some taste. It was very clean and white and gold and thankfully understated, though that may have just been in comparison to the rest of the town. In London even this may have been seen as ‘a bit much’. 

His contact was a man by the name of Gabriel. Both his smile and his outlook could be described as ‘bright’, but that compliment could not be extended to his mind.  
“I’ve tried everything he just won’t listen to reason.”  
“Well, what did you try?”  
“Money.”  
“And then what else?”  
Gabriel looked at him as though he’d said something stupid. “More money.”  
Crowley looked at him. “And…”  
“And when that didn’t work, they sent down the first negotiators. Real tough lads those ones. Poorly dressed but intimidating. They saw him and came back an hour later saying they were retiring. I think one of them had been crying. If they couldn’t get him to sell, I don’t see how anybody as scrawny as yourself could.” Gabriel paused before adding, “No offense.”  
“None taken,” replied Crowley. “There’s more to negotiation than intimidation.”  
Gabriel grunted, as though he didn’t believe it but was willing to pretend.  
“Well enough about what’s been done. Tell me about the man himself. Tell me about Mr Fell.”  
“Nothing much to tell. He’s being far too stubborn for someone so soft.”  
“Soft?”  
“Yeah. A sit around and read type. You know, I always thought he had the best interests of the town at heart, but now I’m not so sure.”  
“You think he doesn’t have the best interests of the town cause he refuses to allow a highway to cut it in half?”  
“Well yeah. Think of the money. I’m opening a Happy Porker rest stop.”  
“You’re going to run a rest stop?”  
“Well I’ll hire someone else to run it.” Gabriel’s expression brightened as he added, “I’m creating jobs! It’s for the greater good.”  
Crowley nodded in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. 

The front of Mr Azira Fell’s shop looked old with just the slightest hint of run down. It was a bland hint of run down that made your eyes glance over it. Your brain just assumed that it’d always been there, always would be, so there’s no real reason to have a proper or close look at the place.  
It had all the required Christmas decorations in the window. Not the bright colors and shiny new kind of Christmas decorations, however. The fading fabrics suggested that the same decorations had been used for decades. Nothing worth stopping to have a real good look at, but they were there. The overall effect was of a shop that fit in so well as to be invisible. 

It also had in its window a ‘closed’ sign and a handwritten note about opening hours that was the longest and most confusing thing Crowley had ever read. He was squinting at it, debating if it was worth the effort of reading when he heard a rather pointed throat clear behind him. He looked to see a rather serious looking man with a rather silly looking dog. 

“I can’t help but notice you snooping about. Casing the joint, are we? Hoping to find a soft spot to burgle? We take a very dim view of beatniks and criminals around here.”  
“Ahn’k,” Crowley responded. “No. No. Nothing like that. I was hoping to speak with Mr Fell. I have business to discuss with him.”  
The serious man brightened considerably. “Aaah, in the book business, are you? I should have guessed. You look the type.” He held out his hand to shake Crowley’s. “R. P. Tyler. Neighborhood watch.”  
Crowley didn’t know what someone ‘in the book business’ was supposed to look like, but he also suspected neither did R. P. Tyler. He took the hand and gave it a reluctant shake. “Charmed, I’m sure. You wouldn’t know where to find Mr Fell, would you?”

R. P. Tyler turned and gestured to the large green open space behind him. At the other end of the field he could make out a number of stalls, a small stage, and rather a lot of blinking lights. This was the famous Christmas Fair. “Why at the fair of course. Mr Fell is one of our most generous contributors every year. Contributes to every stall. Attends every concert.”  
Crowley nodded. “Right. Right. What can you tell me about Mr. Fell?”  
R. P. Tyler considered this. He thought that this mysterious bookseller ought to already know Mr. Fell if he had business with him, but he did so love to give his opinion about things, so he went on. “He’s a good honest man Mr. Fell. Generous and reliable. Perhaps a bit too interested in fancy foods, and he should keep his shop open more regularly for the community’s sake, but he’s one of the good ones.”  
Crowley considered this. The fine dining indicated some vice, but coupled with the generosity it also indicated financial independence which might explain why just plain money failed to tempt him. Still, if there’s one thing a wealthy man loves it’s getting more wealthy. The job maybe wouldn’t take that long.  
“And how should I recognize him if I find him?”  
R. P. Tyler considered this. “Well Mr… umm…”  
“Crowley. Anthony J Crowley.”  
“Well Mr Crowley.”  
“Just plain Crowley is fine.”  
R. P. Tyler didn’t like all these modern attitudes towards names. “Well Mr Crowley, he’s most often with the ladies in the fortune telling booth. Look for white hair and cream clothing. I’ll put the word out so he’ll to expect you.”  
Crowley thanked him for his time and went to the fair. 

He wandered a little bit aimlessly around the stalls hoping to see anybody matching Mr Fell’s description. He should have asked directions to the fortune telling booth. He found young Mr Pulsifer dressed as an elf at the tombola machine, along with the most disheveled man he’d ever seen in his life. This man it seems was Sargent Shadwell, and if you looked at him sideways his outfit seemed to suggest a rather grimy Santa outfit. But when looked at directly he simply resembled a disconcerting mess.  
“You’ll be looking for Mr Fell then?” asked Newton.  
“Yes. How did you know?”  
“Word gets around. You should have told me you were a bookseller. I could have introduced you earlier.”  
Crowley just responded with a hrmm.  
“Anyway, they’re over in the fortune telling booth with the wives.”  
“Wives? How may wives do you have Mr Pulsifer?”  
Newton looked embarrassed. “Just the one. Sargent Shadwell has the other one.”  
Crowley’s eyes once again scanned over the Santa before him. This man had a wife. It seemed there was hope for us all.  
“Thank you so much for your assistance,” replied Crowley as he left. 

A few things were apparent about the fortune telling booth. One was that they didn’t just tell fortunes, they also sold hot mulled wine. The second was that selling hot mulled wine was just an excuse to have a lot of warm mulled wine around them. And third, Pulsifer and Shadwell were punching well above their weight in terms of wives. Everybody in this tent was, in their own way, absolutely gorgeous, even if none of them had any interest in any fashions after the 1950s.

Anathema device had a stunning beauty which shone through thick practical clothes and even thicker glasses. Madame Tracy had a look about her that was both coquettish and strict, but wrapped in in long flowing clothes and large dangling earrings which gave a boho chic look, very fitting for fairground fortune tellers. But above both of them all was Mr Azira Fell. His hair was golden white. His eyes brilliantly blue. His clothes could never be described as fashionable, but his heavily worn waistcoat and jacket suited him perfectly. But his real beauty came from the way he smiled, which seemed to start in his chest then grow upwards until it had control over his entire face. Crowley could see why he would be described as soft, but could never in a million years understand why anybody would say that as an insult. 

“Aah! Mr Anthony J Crowley! Your reputation proceeds you.”  
“Hgnk” replied Crowley.  
“Don’t change the subject. I called.” cut in Anathema.  
Crowley used the distraction to pull himself together and mentally wrap his defensive layers of deferential formality back around him and observe. So Mr Fell was pretty? This changes nothing. Also were they playing poker with the tarot cards? Was that allowed?  
“Alright dearies,” replied Madam Tracy. “I got two pair. Sevens and queens.”  
“Three of a kind. Knights.” said Azira Fell.  
“Straight flush. Seven through page of pentacles.” said Anathema.  
“Alright, you win.” Azira Fell replied with an amused expression. He took a stack of envelopes out of his pocket and spread them out on the table. “You get to pick which envelope you take.”  
Anathema held her hand over the envelopes before choosing one, picking it up, and dropping it into their charity bin.  
“You know I put the same amount in each envelope.” said Azira Fell.  
“I know.” replied Anathema. “I just like to win.” 

Madam Tracy had taken a folding chair from the side of the tent and placed it near the table and gestured towards it for Crowley to sit down. “Come in and sit dearie. No point standing outside.”  
Crowley did. Inside the tent was dark colored hanging fabrics surrounding the round walls, and best of all was blessedly free from all the Christmas tackiness that seemed to coat every other inch of the town. The only nod towards the towns enforced theme was a very small wreath that surrounded the crystal ball in the middle of the table. 

Azira Fell turned towards Crowley and gave a little apologetic smile, “And I’m afraid if you’re here to sell me books I won’t be making any new acquisitions until February at the earliest.”  
“Oh. I’m sorry but I’m not actually here about books. I’m a negotiator from the government.” Crowley tried to look appropriately apologetic, “I’m here about the shop.”  
Everybody got very still for just a second, as though waiting for a reaction from everybody else, then Madam Tracy slowly resumed picking up the tarot cards and wrapping them in the wine dark silk cloth that was their home.  
“Ah.” replied Azira Fell with a distinct and noticeable coolness. “Well I’m afraid I won’t be selling that. Not ever.”  
“Oh, I understand. And I promise I won’t push you into anything. I just want to talk about it.”  
Both the women looked at Mr Fell as he seemed to consider this. Still with all the coolness in his tone he turned to Anathema and asked, “Anathema my dear, could you pull some cards for our friend here?”  
Anathema nodded and pulled from her pocket another deck of tarot cards. Not ornate and wrapped in silk like Madam Tracy’s, but simple and in cardboard box they were sold in and battered with age and use. “Alright. If you’re sure.”  
Azira Fell nodded and gestured towards the table.  
Anathema started shuffling.  
And Crowley thought it was best if he kept his mouth shut. Whatever was going on here he just had to let happen. He had to earn Mr Fell’s trust, and if that meant going along with some weirdness, then so be it. 

The first card was drawn. The Devil. 

This got one or two general tuts from the collected group and Crowley felt a little bit annoyed. How was he going to earn their trust if the cards were out calling him a devil? 

The second card was drawn. The Hanged Man. 

It had a man hanging upside down from a tree. He wasn’t sure what this one meant but the collected group seemed surprised if anything, but their reaction didn’t seem defensive so not too bad. 

The third card got drawn. The Lovers.

This one actually got a small snort of surprise and amusement from Madam Tracy. Crowley could tell what this one was supposed to mean, and it was ridiculous. He wanted to tell them how ridiculous it all was, but he had a job to do. It wouldn’t go to start insulting them right off the bat. Instead he just rolled his eyes behind his dark glasses. 

“Ah.” said Azira Fell.  
“Anathema dearest, could you draw another card to clarify the last one?” asked Madam Tracy. Azira Fell nodded in agreement.  
The clarifying card was drawn. The King of Swords.  
“Huh.” Came the collected response from the group. They looked at the card for a beat longer than expected, then looked at each other.  
“And it’s certain?” asked Madam Tracy, as though she already knew the answer.  
“I’m never wrong. Though sometimes you can’t see it until after. But in this case, I’m certain.”  
Now this got to Crowley. They were talking about him, but he didn’t know what it all meant. “Would somebody care to explain what this all means?” he asked as innocently as he could muster at the time.  
“It means my dear,” responded Azira Fell. “That you’d better come with me as I deliver the rest of these envelopes. 

Crowley had so many more questions burning inside him, but he was getting what he wanted, which was time alone with Azira Fell, so he swallowed them back down again, and together they exited the tent and re-entered the hellish world of Christmas land. They dropped an envelope into the tombola stand.  
“Merry Christmas.” said Azira Fell.  
“Merry Christmas Mr Fell!” responded Newton rather cheerfully.  
“Aye” responded Sargent Shadwell in a neutral tone Crowley believed probably passed for cheery in his case. 

They dropped an envelope into the donation bucket of a few stalls run by people dressed as angels. Their costumes included a blond wig with a tinsel halo stuck in it, a pair of wings with the feathers falling off in places showing the cardboard beneath, and a gown of cheap thin plasticky fabric that did nothing to conceal the much warmer thicker clothes they wore underneath. About the only impressive thing in their costume was the gold face paint, which came from the facepaint booth they were manning. 

They each had a booth. One was doing a craft table where kids could build their own angel Christmas tree topper. One had the face painting booth. And the other had a photo wall with silly props where kids could have a polaroid photo taken of their new facepaint.  
“Merry Christmas,” said Azira Fell, though the cheeriness seemed somewhat forced.  
“Merry Christmas,” came the definitely flat and cold reply.  
When they’d walked a short distance from the booth, as though he sensed the question inside Crowley, Azira Fell leaned into him and whispered, “We used to work together. I don’t think they’ve ever forgiven me for leaving.”  
“You were an angel?”  
“What? No. I mean yes. I mean we worked at the same firm is all.”  
Crowley considered it. “I bet you looked good as an angel.”  
Azira Fell just rolled his eyes in response. 

They dropped an envelope into the donation bin of the food stalls. They were currently being run by some rather odd looking nuns. They were a very talkative lot. They gave a crepe, rolled into a cone and packed full of cream and fruit, to Azira Fell.

“For you Mr Fell,” said the nun, “no charge of course.”  
“Oh.” came the somewhat stilted reply, as Azira Fell looked from the nun, to Crowley, then back to the nun again. “Thank you, Sister Mary Loquacious.”  
The nun took the hint and gave a friendly smile. “And of course we must have another for your friend.”  
Crowley watched as the joy from another one of Azira Fell’s smiles started in his chest and grew into his face until he beamed like the sun. And like the sun, Crowley couldn’t look directly at him.

“Oh. Thank you.” replied Azira Fell with genuine warmth and gratitude.  
Sister Mary Loquacious quickly prepared another crepe for Crowley, though slightly less prettily due to the rush. For her efforts she got a stern look, an eye roll, and a head shake from an older nun. 

Crowley enjoyed himself more than he cared to admit, just for the pleasure of watching Azira Fell eat their late lunch together. It was as though this remarkable man had zero filter for pleasure. Every sensation seemed to light up his entire being. It was the more remarkable thing he’d ever witnessed. 

Crowley had to focus. He was here to build rapport. To ask the right questions. To help Mr Fell realize he wanted to sell. 

Azira Fell dropped an envelope into the donation bucket of four stalls, close together. One stall was red with a squirt gun shooting range. One stall was an eating contest, currently out of stock. And one stall was white with a mix your own slime craft stall for kids. It had oh so much glitter. The fourth was covered in black fabric and had a sign that simply read “Coming Soon” 

One set of stalls seemed to be run by garbage collectors. They looked filthy, as did the collection of unfathomable items on their stalls. Crowley couldn’t imagine what they were there to do, and didn’t want to. Azira Fell dropped the envelope in and gave a cheery “Merry Christmas” which was responded to with a dull nod and a grunt.

Near the main stage was a dog show where the talent portion was currently being won by a very proud boy and his small terrier. Second place had been won by a larger boy who glared at the winner. And third place seems to have been won by a girl and her cat. There was something about the posture of the girl which suggested she was only allowed to enter because it was not worth the trouble it’d cause had they said no. 

Azira Fell dropped the last envelope into the last bucket and watched the boy win his prize with pride.  
“Mr Fell. Mr Fell. Did you see Dog win? We totally won.”  
“I did. You both did very well.” Azira Fell beamed.  
“And you’ll be here tomorrow at ten for rehearsals?” asked the boy.  
“Oh.” Azira Fell seemed totally backfooted by this one. “I said I would so of course I will.” he replied.  
Crowley noted the honesty in the reply. What it was saying and all that the reply was not saying. The reply said that he would be there. The reply did not say that he would enjoy being there, because it was fairly evident that he would not.  
But the reply was more than enough to satisfy the boy, “Thanks Mr Fell.” Looking to Crowley he added, “You can bring your friend too if you’d like. It’s okay. Everybody already knows how the story ends; the fun is in the playing it.”  
“Oh.” said Azira Fell. “Adam Young. This is my friend Mr Anthony J Crowley. Anthony Crowley this is my friend Adam Young.”  
“Just Crowley is fine.” added Crowley.  
The boy straightened his posture and held out his hand as though suddenly remembering the manners that had been formally trained in him. “Pleased to meet you Mr Crowley.”  
Crowley summarily straightened his posture and took the hand and gave it a small serious shake. “Likewise Mr Young.” And once the handshake had ended, they both broke down into their respective slouches and smiled.  
“You can call me Adam if you like.”  
“Okay I will.”  
Adam looked around at his parents who were waving him over and started to walk over to them, turning around to call back “Don’t forget! Tomorrow! At ten!”  
“We won’t.” called back Crowley.  
After Adam Young was out of ear shot, Crowley bent slightly to Azira Fell’s ear and murmured “Friends with a lot of ten year olds, are you?”  
Azira Fell’s posture gained a little defensive formality. “He’s eleven actually. And yes. There are four of them in his little group and I’m friends with them all.”  
“How exactly do you end up friends with a group of eleven year olds?”  
“You kind of don’t have a choice. They’re a very spirited bunch. You get pulled into their orbit. You end up either a friend or, if you try to maintain that you are an adult and they should listen to you, you end up a pantomime villain in one of their antics.”  
Crowley considered this. “Impressive kids.”  
“Very.” 

With all mysterious envelopes accounted for Azira Fell and Crowley both went back to the fortune tellers’ booth. The girls, with the help of their respective husbands, were packing up the loose items in their stalls. Chairs were folded and tucked under tables. The last of the mulled wine was being emptied into thermoses. 

“Ah, Azira, we’re alright packing up here, but could you be a dear and take the baskets and lay out a good spot to watch the carols?” called out Madam Tracy with a less than subtle glint in her eye.  
Crowley remembered her look when she saw The Lovers card was drawn and suddenly felt very embarrassed. It was all random chance anyway. Why did they have to go and believe that stuff? Sure at the time it was useful, but now it was just embarrassing.  
“Erm. Yes. If you think that’s best.” replied Azira Fell.  
He wasn’t liking it very much either, thought Crowley. And it’s getting far too cold to stay out any longer. He didn’t pack clothes for staying out after sunset in winter. He thought he should make my excuses and leave.  
But Azira Fell gestured towards four large baskets and said, “Crowley, do you mind?”

And even if he didn’t admit it, Crowley wanted to do whatever Azira Fell asked of him. Besides, there were too many for him to carry by himself. Crowley was here to build rapport. What kind of rapport could he build if he just left him to lug four large baskets all by himself? 

It turned out that three of the baskets contained blankets which they set up in a spot with a good view of the stage. The first two were plastic coated and went on the ground side by side to protect against damp. Then on top of that two thicker woolen blankets to protect against the cold. The end result was enough space to comfortably sit two couples and one extra, or in this case two extra. The rest of the blankets were for wrapping around the people. One each for Sargent Shadwell and Madam Tracy. One large one to wrap around Newton and Anathema together, as a couple, which left one other large fluffy white blanket for the two leftovers. 

They left the blanket unused between them, both too embarrassed to do anything with it. Instead they focused their attention to the fourth basket, which contained cheeses, crackers, and of course a few thermoses of mulled wine. 

They’d just finished their first paper cups of wine when the others arrived, carrying with them yet another basket filled with yet more thermoses of mulled wine. Crowley wondered to himself how much more they expected them to drink. 

As though sensing his question Anathema answered, “Can’t leave the wine overnight, it’ll be far too sour to drink tomorrow. We can either drink what’s left or poor it down the drain.”  
“Ah. So really, I’m saving the world from waste. I’m a hero.” added Crowley as he went to pour himself another paper cup.  
“That’s the spirit.” said Anathema as she unscrewed a thermos and drunk straight from the bottle.  
Crowley shrugged, said “When in Rome,” and also took a swig from the thermos he was about to struggle to pour into a paper cup. Azira Fell frowned slightly, but then took the thermos from Crowley’s hand and also drank straight from it. 

The show started; it was carols. Not good carols either. The nuns from earlier were currently singing, and though Crowley never paid attention to Christmas music before he was sure these weren’t the right lyrics. 

Crowley looked to the left to the other couples. Madam Tracy and Sargent Shadwell wrapped up in their respective blankets, looking more or less the same as they ever did. Though Shadwell had softened slightly around Madam Tracy, and Madam Tracy seemed more comfortable in her silence around Shadwell. 

Newton and Anathema, on the other hand, seemed totally changed. She was sitting between his legs, leaning back against him, eyes closed. And he had the blankets wrapped around his back and completely around the two of them, leaving just their heads exposed, and Newton was using that space to slowly and methodically leave gentle kisses over each and every part of her face. It was as though to the two of them nobody else in the world has ever or could ever existed. And it was also sickening to watch. 

Crowley stared at his feet as it started to snow lightly. Crowley really hadn’t worn the right kind of clothing for this. Maybe he should just go home. Then he felt the blanket across his back. It was Azira Fell.  
“Come on,” Azira said, “there’s no sense in us both catching our deaths out here just because…” but he never finished his sentence. 

Crowley was still sitting beside Azira Fell and together they inched closer, so the long blanket could reach all the way around them and provide some actual warmth. They were so close their thighs and shoulders were touching. It was warm under the blanket. It was very warm under the blanket. The heat radiating from Azira Fell’s body into Crowley’s felt like it was fueling him, but unfortunately fueling him with a kind of anxious energy he didn’t know how to handle. 

This was all getting too much for Crowley. He was here to do a job. Mr Fell was his job. That was all. He didn’t have time to get into all this. It was the tarot reading. It’d gotten into his head. That had to be it. He just had to go back to his hotel room and have a sleep and it’ll all look better in the morning. 

With too much energy in his body Crowley burst out of the blanket and said, “I should go!”  
“Oh, I see.” Azira Fell seemed genuinely disappointed.  
Crowley looked at Azira Fell and felt an ineffable regret. He added, much more softly this time, “Hey, I’ll see you tomorrow. I have a rehearsal to attend.”  
“Oh. I see.” Azira Fell seeming an entirely different kind of disappointed. “You know you could skip that. We could get lunch after if you’d like.” He added hopefully.  
But Crowley had to see what this brilliant man felt he needed to hide in this kids play and answered, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”  
“Ah. Well then.”  
And that was that. Crowley walked the short distance through the lightly falling snow towards the bed and breakfast. Everything was so suspiciously close together in this place. 

It snowed all through the night and in the morning the snow was six inches deep on the ground. Crowley assumed that would mean days two and three of the Christmas Fair would be canceled and went to go see Azira Fell to commiserate and ask his questions, but during his walk to Azira Fell’s shop he looked over and saw a collection of this weird towns residents out with snow shovels clearing the fair grounds. They hadn’t even gotten a snowplough to clear the roads yet. What were this towns priorities? He turned and walked towards the stage where Azira Fell was undoubtedly preparing for his part. 

He found Azira Fell at the side of the stage, dressed as the most heavenly angel Crowley had ever seen. Crowley didn’t mean to stare, but he did stare.  
“Well, what do you think?” asked Azira Fell, self-consciously.  
“Erm. Good. Good. You look good.” replied Crowley somewhat nervously. “Angelic.” he added in what he hoped was a friendly tone.  
Azira Fell beamed at him. “Oh. Thank you. I was afraid it might have been a bit much.”  
“No. No. I don’t think you could ever be too much.” Crowley replied automatically.  
Together they looked awkward for a moment longer and then Crowley broke the silence. “Have many lines?”  
“Just the one. ‘Do not be afraid.’”  
“And that’s what’s got you so nervous?”  
“Well it’s not the lines exactly. It’s…”  
And then they were interrupted by a man Crowley recognized as Adams father from the dog show. “I’ve got your harness ready. Now you’ll be coming in from the rafters, so we’ll have you waiting up there until it’s time for you to come in, then you’ll put your weight on the harness then we’ll lower you down. Now it’s perfectly safe. Me and the wife Deidre tested it all. If it can hold my weight it can definitely hold yours. Though it’s not comfortable around the um… erm… sorry about that Mr Fell. But you’ll be safe and that’s the main thing.”  
“Ah.” said Crowley.  
“Indeed.” added Azira Fell.  
Crowley was very glad he didn’t miss this. 

The rehearsal went surprisingly well, for a nativity play being directed by an eleven year old whose job it was to direct another bunch of eleven year olds and a handful of adults. It seems that it was supposed to be an all kids’ production, but there weren’t enough children interested in that sort of thing, so adults had to fill in many of the gaps. Mostly the gaps were of farm animals and angels. It seems the dignity of adults was not high on Adam’s list of priorities. 

Crowley learned many more of the kid’s names. The Virgin Mary, with the ferocious temper and the prize winning cat, was called Pepper. The Joseph, who looked like he was born as a chartered accountant but was just waiting for his body to catch up, was called Wensleydale. The very grimy innkeeper was called Brian. King Herod was the lad who came second in the dog show and was called Johnson. The three wise men were Johnsons three friends. A rival gang it seems, but they were doing their best to put their differences aside well enough for the play. Crowley never did learn Johnson’s first name, but he did learn that he’d won some prizes yesterday for his tropical fish. 

The dog, who was playing a donkey too small to be ridden, was indeed called Dog. 

Rehearsals were over by the time the Christmas Fair opened back up around lunch time. It seems that rumor had spread that Mr Cowley was not some rare book dealer and was instead here to compel Mr Fell to sell his bookshop. His reception around town had cooled considerably, though everybody kept their civility and only a few ventured to comment out loud that his plans were doomed to failure because Mr Fell would never sell. 

They collected a fresh thermos of mulled wine from the ladies at the fortune telling booth. At least their appraisal of Crowley had not cooled in the slightest, and he was surprisingly grateful for that. Then the pair got lunch from the food stalls, baked potatoes with all the toppings this time, and went back to Azira Fell’s shop to eat.  
It was here, when the wine had generously settled into their bodies and Crowley had melted boneless into the couches at the back of the shop, that Crowley asked his question.  
“What are your dreams Mr Fell? If you could have anything and do anything and be anything, what do you most want to do with your life? What would you most want to experience? What do you really want to do for the rest of forever?”

He’d expected something like travel. Eat in restaurants all across the world. Or maybe even this man who deals in rare books would like to one day write his own book. He’d expected he’d start explaining how many around the world tickets he could buy with the money he’d get from selling the shop. How many meals in how many exotic locations. How many years the money could pay the bills while he worked on his novel. To start describing in detail how he could live this life if only he’d first sell the shop. 

But instead Azira Fell answered like a man who was sure of his answer and knew exactly what to do about it.

“Well. I’d like to run a rare book shop in a small town. The kind of rare bookshop people need to book appointments to get in and see. In the kind of small town that holds centuries old traditions surrounding Christmas and charities that the entire town takes part in. I want my life to be filed with friends and loved ones who all know me. I’d like it to be a pretty sort of place and I’d like it if the people were just a little bit odd. Odd enough to be interesting. I’d like it if the summers were warm and the winters cold. I’d like it if the shop and the town were filled with love and care. I’d like it if the shop was this shop and if the town were Tadfield.”

Azira Fell breathed deep as though he were about to say something very brave. “If I were to change anything I do wonder if maybe one day, in the future, maybe the shop could hold one more person in it. But this shop and this town is my world and above all else I want to live in it.” 

Crowley had not been expecting that. He looked into Azira Fells oh so blue eyes and saw nothing but open and honest vulnerability. He was speaking the god’s honest truth. Another puzzle piece fell into place and he saw that there was nothing he could say do or cajole that could compel this man to sell his shop.  
“Right.” Crowley answered at last with a little nod. “Right. Right. I see.”  
Crowley was realizing that he had nothing more to offer. His role was done. He’d have to report back to head office his first official failure. “Ummm. Right. I think I… I think I need to head back to the office. Well, to town hall. I need to speak with them there.”  
“Oh no don’t go.” Azira Fell seemed genuinely upset to see him go, “We can stay a little longer.”  
Crowley smiled a little apologetic smile. “I promised them I’d report in before lunch. I’m already late. And we have a lot to talk about.”  
“Well promise me you’ll be back before you leave town. Don’t go back to London without saying goodbye.”  
“Of course.” Crowley replied automatically.  
And he left. Back to town hall. Head filled with astonishment that he’d explain to Gabriel and his boss that he’d failed. He never failed. But thinking back to the look in Azira Fell’s eyes, there was no doubt that he was doomed to failure. 

Crowley found Gabriel in a large room that was in a flurry of activity. There were desks everywhere, and people were opening envelopes, counting money, marking off ledgers.  
“What’s going on here?” Crowley asked.  
“It’s this Christmas charity thing. Local business owners can pay part of their taxes in donations to the Christmas Charity Fair every year. It’s part of the town charter.” answered Gabriel. “I wish I could abolish it, but apparently it takes more than one year to undo centuries of outdated tradition. People should just trust their government to do what’s best, ya know?”  
“This is the same government that wants to destroy the fair grounds and cut the town in half with a highway so they can open a Happy Porker rest stop?”  
“Precisely.” said Gabriel without an ounce of self-awareness. “It’ll make jobs. It’s for the greater good.”  
“Right.” was Crowley’s flat reply. 

Crowley began to walk around observing the proceedings. The thick and ancient logbook that looked like it’d been used for hundreds of years, and still had plenty of room for hundreds more. The people at their little desks counting and re-counting to double check their figures. The piles of discarded envelopes. 

He immediately recognized Mr Fell’s envelopes, with their thick cream paper and gold wax seal. He picked one up to examine it, and picked up another much more plain envelope, written on the outside with a name of a man and a business. It seemed chartered accountancy ran in the family for Wensleydales.  
R. P. Tyler appeared at his side. “R. P. Tyler neighbourhood watch.”  
“We’ve met.”  
“I remember, and I note that you are once again snooping. And now that I know more about who you are, I strongly suggest you stop snooping.”  
“Why doesn’t Azira’s envelopes have writing on the outside like the others?”  
“Well the writing is just there to identify who gave the donation. Mr Fell uses the wax stamps, which does exactly the same job. And as I’ve explained perhaps it would be in your best interest if you stopped snooping.”  
Crowley found it instinctively very difficult to follow the advice of the R. P. Tylers of this world. “But is it supposed to have his name and business name written on the outside?”  
Inside R. P. Tyler’s mind the desire to have everything done exactly right was fighting with what he knew was right and he stammered significantly louder than he’d liked “The wax seals do exactly the same job.”  
Crowley was preparing to drop the subject and tell Gabriel that there was nothing that could be done, and that Mr Fell could not be compelled to sell his shop. But unfortunately for everybody involved Mr Tyler’s little outburst gathered Gabriel’s attention. And even more unfortunately, for once in his life, Gabriel was not slow to understand the full implications of what’s being said. 

Crowley looked with slowly dawning horror as Gabriel’s pale blue suited arm reached out from behind him and took Azira Fell’s envelope from his hand. “So you’re saying?”  
Oh no, thought Crowley.  
“That because Mr Fell has never written his name properly on the outside of his envelopes,”  
Oh no no no no.  
“That he’s never fully complied with the tax laws,”  
No no no no no no no no. Stop saying that.  
“And that if he doesn’t pay his taxes in full by the end of the Christmas Fair tomorrow.”  
No no no. No. You stupid man.  
“Then we can re-possess his shop and we don’t actually need to pay him a dime.”  
Crowley’s brain screamed at him in panicked screams. His mouth said, “Hnk.”  
Gabriel gave him a firm clap on the shoulder which almost knocked him down. “That’s brilliant! You know I really had my doubts about you, but you really came through. I’m going to call your boss and suggest they give you a commendation.”  
R. P. Tyler looked at them mouth agape. “You can’t! You mustn’t! I’ll… I’ll… I’ll… write letters to the news paper! I’ll hold a town meeting!”  
Gabriel looked at him as though he’d said something endearingly dumb. “How are you going to hold a town meeting without me? I’m the government. You know you were voting for a clever successful business man. These are the kinds of decisions that clever successful businessmen like me make.”  
R. P. Tyler stared at him mouth agape, started a few loud stammering objections, but unable to find the words he just marched out the door.  
“I make these difficult decisions so you don’t have to!” Gabriel called after him. “It’s for the greater good!” 

Crowleys head swam as he left the town hall. This was his fault. He had to fix it. But how? He’d have to convince Azira to take the offer, to sell the shop before the end of day tomorrow. That way he’d have enough money to pay the tax bill and have enough left over to pack his books and start again somewhere new. He could come with him to London. 

What? Why was he thinking that? 

Or maybe Azira Fell had enough money put aside all on his own to cover the bill. He was very generous after all. He had to have significant savings in order to be able to afford to give so much. Crowley somehow doubted that, but he had to try. 

First stop, the bed and breakfast. He had to get his paperwork so Mr Fell could sign it before the shop was re-possessed so he could at least get his money. It was a very generous offer. 

Crowley walked around to the motel door of his room and was greeted with a flying suitcase to the chest. Sargent Shadwell it seemed was currently exorcising the room of all of his objects.  
“Daemon!” Bellowed Sargent Shadwell, pointing an accusatory finger at Crowley. “You ought to be ashamed. Using your wiles to take advantage of a poor sweet man like that.”  
“I didn’t…” Crowley started.  
“Don’t try to deny it! I heard all about it, and now I’m terminating your stay here and you’re going to leave. You’ll darken these doors no more! I cast ye out!” 

Crowley was smart enough to know when to run, so he hurriedly gathered his belongings, threw them into the back of the bently, and drove straight to Azira Fell’s shop. The plan from here was simple. Find Azira. Make him sign the paperwork ensuring that he gets some money. Then drive like hell out of town before he gets his ass beat by an angry mob. 

The roads were still thick with snow, but it was drivable, and he made it the short distance to the bookshop. He ran straight to the door and tried it. Locked. Of course.  
He beat against the door and called out. “Azira! Azira! Where hell are you Azira! Listen I messed up real bad and I want to fix it! Azira!” but the shop made no reply.  
Crowley swore, dug through his briefcase, found the contract and signed all the sections he had to sign, then stuffed it through the letter box along with a note pleading Azira Fell to sign it and date it before the end of the Christmas Fair so at least he could have something from this mess. Then he returned to his car to leave. 

Driving in snow is tricky business, and should only be attempted by gentle drivers taking the utmost care. It was also best to use a modern four wheel drive with tires that had decent tread. Crowley was never a gentle driver, and the Bentley was as far from a modern four wheel drive you could get. Crowley made it to the first corner he aquaplaned sideways into a snowbank and a hedge.

Crowley was trapped, scared, angry, and above all disappointed in himself. With nothing else to do, nowhere else to go, and a lot of feeling to express, he started taking all of these feelings out on the plant.

He was yelling at it. He’d just gotten to the part where he was telling the hedge that maybe if the hedge could learn to keep his big damn mouth shut then possibly nice things could happen to the hedge occasionally and maybe people would like being around the hedge more, when behind him he heard a gentle and caring voice say “Crowley?”  
Oh god. It was Azira Fell. Crowley turned around slowly. Azira was holding a crepe and a thermos. He’d been at the fair. Maybe he didn’t even know yet. Oh god. He had to tell him.  
“Azira. I’m so sorry. You have to sell the bookshop. You have no other choice.”  
Azira Fell stood up a little firmer. “I’m not selling.”  
Crowley melted into a puddle of regret. “I’m so sorry. You have no choice. They’ll repossess it if you don’t sell it before the end of the fair tomorrow. You’ll still lose the shop, but you won’t see a dime of it.”  
“I know.”  
“You know? Then what are you going to do? It’s a lot of money Azira. Do you have the money they’re asking?”  
“No.”  
“Well how much do you have? Maybe we can get a loan for the rest?”  
“None.” Azira Fell’s face scrunched with uncertainty. “I gave it all away.”

“You what?!”  
“I gave it away!”  
Crowley just stared in stunned silence.  
“I do it every year. I settle all my bills, pay what I can in advance for the next few months, and then whatever is left over I give away.”  
This was the single stupidest thing Crowley has ever heard in his life. He stared at the golden abashed creature in front of him. So astounding. So wonderful. So incredibly and stupidly reckless.  
“Alright.” he said eventually. “We have other options. If you sign the paperwork, you’ll still get your money from the sale of the property and you can start over. You can come to London with me. It won’t be Tadfield, but it’ll be something.”  
Crowley didn’t know why he said that last part. Or why he was so desperate for Azira to accept.  
“Go to London with you?” Azira Fell hesitated, and for a second Crowley thought he had him, but instead his face turned to an image of pitiful sadness and he answered. “No. There’s still time. I’ll talk to the council. They’ll reverse their decision.”  
Crowley was stunned. “That won’t happen. You’re so clever. How can someone as clever as you be so stupid.”  
He turned to storm back to the Bentley and drive away. He was prepared to leave the beautiful and stupid man in his stupid mess, when he saw the Bentley wedged stubbornly in some snow and a rather admonished looking bush. With nothing else to do Crowley let out an anguished groan that could be considered a scream.  
“We’re not having this conversation out here.” Azira Fell said gently. He gestured back towards the shop. “Come inside.”  
Crowley just stared at him.  
“It’s not like you have anywhere else to go.” 

There was to be an unofficial town meeting tonight. Here. In the bookshop. Crowley hid upstairs while Azira Fell attended the meeting downstairs. 

Crowley’s involvement was much discussed, and every time Azira Fell dared to suggest that Crowley was “not all bad” the room just got even more offended on his behalf and the prejudice against him grew even stronger, so Azira stopped trying. And besides, after hearing R. P. Tyler’s accounts of how the back taxes thing had all been Crowley’s idea, Azira had even started to grow his own doubts.  
It was revealed exactly how large the sum of money needed was, and it was much larger than they’d anticipated. Gabriel dug through the archives and was demanding decades of back taxes. And Gabriel did indeed have the letter of the law on his side. Azira Fell had until the end of the Christmas fair to pay it in its entirety. Appealing to the greater area council was also futile because the highway was deemed very good for the surrounding area and the towns Christmas laws were such an irritating local anomaly none of the councilors wanted to interfere with it. According to the council it was a very simple case of closing on a property with unpaid taxes.  
Adam Young had the idea of turning the nativity play into a fund raiser, passing around a bucket for Azira Fell and then taking that money, labeling it correctly, and putting it into the donation buckets before the Fair closes. It was the best idea any of them could come up with, but the sum was so large seemed unsurmountable. It all looked very bleak.  
The meeting ended Anathema stayed behind, telling her husband she just needed to talk to Azira alone for a minute.  
“Azira.”  
Azira Fell ignored her, tidying away cups and plates fussing them into the kitchen.  
She put her hand on his arm making him stop. “Azira.”  
Azira put down cups he was holding but did not look at her.  
“Azira. There were two cups of wine beside the couch when I came in. I know he’s here.”  
Azira stood still, choosing not to respond.  
“What if we were wrong. What if the cards were saying that you would leave with him, not the other way around.”  
“No.” Came the firm reply. “I refuse. This is my home and I refuse to leave it. I’ll find another way. There’s always another way.”  
Anathema nodded. “Okay. That’s okay.” Anathema looked at his tired broken face then hugged him. “And know that if for any reason you were to want somewhere to stay, you’re welcome to take a room at the bed and breakfast for as long as you like. It’s not the option you’d like to take, but it’s an option that’ll always be open to you.”  
Azira nodded into her shoulder and hugged her back and said in a small voice, “Thank you.”

When they were finally alone Azira Fell started setting up the couch with blankets and pillows for Crowley. While he was working, he quietly asked, “Did you know what you were doing when you told Gabriel about those envelopes?”  
“Aanh.” started the non-answer. Crowley didn’t know what to say, but Azira Fell had been so kind. He deserved the truth, even if Crowley didn’t know what that truth was. “I don’t know what I was trying to do. I didn’t mean to tell Gabriel about it at all, he was just kinda there. I think I just wanted to feel clever. To solve the puzzle. To work out how to do it.”  
Azira Fell nodded thoughtfully, and without turning around to look at him said, “Goodnight Crowley.” and went upstairs to bed. 

In the morning he awoke to the sound of distant voices coming from the kitchen. After he remembered where he was and why, he slowly unfolded himself from the couch and carefully, trying not to be spotted, went to check it out. Azira Fell was serving cocoa to Anathema, Adam, Pepper, Wensleydale, and Brian. 

Azira was the first to notice him. He smiled, though the smile brought with it a sadness to his eyes. “My friends and I have dug your car out of the snow. You should be able to leave now if you like.”  
Crowley looked at him unsure how to respond, before settling on “Thank you.”  
Azira Fell smiled again, a little less sadly than the first, and stood up to leave. “Now, if we don’t mind. I have a Christmas Fair to attend and you’d probably better get going before anybody sees you.”  
Crowley nodded. “Yeah.”  
Azira Fell hesitated before walking out the door, turned to face Crowley one last time and said, “Merry Christmas Crowley.”  
Crowley gave a little smile he hoped would read as apologetic and replied, “Merry Christmas Azira.”  
And then with a chorus of Merry Christmas’s they left one by one. First Azira, then Anathema, then Brian, Wensleydale, and Pepper. Only Adam remained.  
“Once I broke my dad’s T.V. I was playing ball in the house even though I wasn’t supposed to, and it got away from me. It was an accident and I said I was sorry, but my dad stayed upset until we got a new one. Cause sometimes when you break things saying you’re sorry doesn’t fix them. Sometimes when you break things all you have is a broken thing and nothing gets better until it’s fixed again.”  
“This is a bit more complicated than a broken T.V. kid.”  
“I know. And you can’t just buy a new one like you can a T.V. Sometimes things is just things. Sometimes they’re not. But I do know that you really gotta pay attention to where you’re throwing the ball. Only throw it if you know for sure it’s going where you want it to.”  
Crowley nodded. “Great advice kid. I’ll go back in time a day and give it to myself then.”  
Adam shrugged. “Merry Christmas Mr Crowley.”  
“Merry Christmas, kid.”  
And then he too was gone. 

Crowley was back in his Bentley and on the road back to London when he got a call from his boss.  
“Beez. How’s it going?”  
“I heard you did good on that Tadfield case.”  
“Erm. Yeah. That one kinda solved itself.”  
“Uh huh. We expected you back yesterday. There’s a charity dinner we want you at tonight. Some people you have to talk to. We need them to invest in a new project.”  
“Yeah. Sorry about that. Had a bit of car trouble.”  
“Hrm. Just be here by seven.”  
“Yeah. Of course. And Merry Christmas.”  
But they’d hung up already, and Crowley was once again alone with his thoughts. 

He was thinking about the kid’s final message. Be careful where you throw the ball. Kids are so stupid, even the clever ones. There was no ball. There was just him and Azira. Azira was going to keep all of his books in some dinky little motel that pretended it was a bed and breakfast and continually give all his money away forever. And he was going to London, to a high paid job working for people he didn’t like convincing wealthy people that what’d really make them happy is if they had even more money. That’s where they were going and they’d never cross paths ever again. 

Being struck by a sudden epiphany does not always feel as you expect it to. Sometimes rather than being sudden, they’re things that were obvious, and that you already knew for a really long time, but you just didn’t think about them much until now. If anything the epiphany is rather tardy. 

And sometimes epiphanies don’t even strike you. They settle into you gently. First with a prolonged groan, then with a bout of swearing and then you hit the steering wheel as you try to drive out the thoughts you knew to be true, and then once the epiphany has finally settled deep into you, they burst out as a reckless and dramatic U-turn while you are driving a touch too fast down a recently plowed rural road. 

This was one of those. He was going back to Tadfield. 

Crowley had a plan, and he had gathered all his resources, and he hoped he had enough to carry it out, but first he needed a disguise. The only thing he could think of was to put his long jacket on inside out, so it looked red, not black, and take off his sunglasses. As far as disguises go it was a terrible one, but it was the best he had at such short notice. 

Maybe some face paint would help? There was animosity between Azira and the face painting booth, and they weren’t at the meeting. Maybe he could convince them to help him. He crept around the outside of the fair but what he found at the face painting booth wasn’t a sympathetic angel. What he found there was even better. What he found was an unattended booth, complete with angel costume. Flimsy gown, wings, wig, everything. What he found was a disguise.

Crowley quickly put on the costume and applied a quick dab of gold face paint. The end result wasn’t pretty, but so long as nobody looked too closely it’ll work. Then he hurried around putting very nice and accurately labeled envelopes in as many donation bins as he could. 

The longer he went around and the more those envelopes left him the more anxious and vulnerable he felt. At one stage he nearly jumped clean out of his skin when a loud ear splitting squeal had erupted form the ladies in the fortune telling booth. Heaven only knows what that was about, and he’d have to ask them about it later, if they’ll ever forgive him that is. He didn’t have time to find out. The nativity play started soon, and once that was done the Christmas Fair was over. He wanted to find Azira before the show started. He wanted to assure him that it wasn’t as dire as it seemed. 

Crowley walked quickly as he searched all around the side and rear of the stage trying to find Azira. The angel wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Maybe he was already in the rafters waiting for his scene. Crowley began to climb to see.  
“Oh. It’s you.” said a young voice from the ground.  
“Um. Hey Adam. You haven’t seen Azira by any chance, have you?”  
“Nope. I was looking for him too. Without him we don’t have an angel for the play.”  
“Aah. That is bad. But also, I really need to talk to him. Grown up stuff. You understand.”  
“Without an angel for the play we might have to cancel it.” Adam said flatly.  
Crowley snapped his head around and looked directly at Adam Young. This child was about to blackmail him. He knew it.  
“If we cancel the play the Christmas Fair will be over early.”  
“No no no no no no no no.” replied Crowley.  
“But you’re wearing an angel costume. I think you’ll do.”  
“I don’t know the lines.”  
“It’s just one line. You know it.”  
Crowley let out a long prolonged groan that turned into a snarl. This child was too clever for his own good. Or rather too clever for anybody else’s good.  
“FINE!” declared Crowley, knowing when he was defeated.  
Adam flashed a smile and suddenly started talking like a little kid again. “Awesome. We worked really hard on this play and we know it’ll be brilliant.”  
“Yep.” was all Crowley could manage as a defeated reply. 

Harness on, waiting in the rafters for his cue, Crowley kept looking around for Azira who never came. He listened gratefully as Adam gave a very simple and direct explanation to the audience that this particular nativity play was a fund raiser to help Mr Fell otherwise, he’d lose his shop and the town would lose its fair ground. It seemed to be working. People were giving. This would work. 

The play went on. It was awkward as all kids plays are, but also endearing. The kids were actually quite good. Then his cue came. He lowered his weight onto the harness and was lowered towards the stage.  
“Do Not Be Afraid.” projected Crowley.  
“You’re not Mr Fell.” said the Virgin Mary.  
“Urm. No. I am an angel and I am here to tell you not to be afraid.” scrambled Crowley.  
Thankfully this was enough to shake the Virgin Mary to her senses and she went back about doing her lines. Then it was blessedly time for him to leave the stage and the harness started to rise again, for about a foot, then it fell back down another few inches. And then it decidedly stopped moving in any direction and a swearword was heard from side of stage. 

Crowley on the other hand did not stop moving. Namely his top half moved down and his bottom half moved up. He was tilting and soon was quite upside down.  
“Oh, no.” said Crowley.  
‘Flump’ went the wig as it hit the floor beneath him.  
“Oh. No.” said Crowley.  
“YOU!” bellowed Sargent Shadwell with an accusatory finger pointed. “DAEMON!”  
“Oh. No!” said Crowley.  
Crowley began flailing his arms and legs in mid-air in an attempt to right himself. The poor Virgin Mary had to duck, but he made it. He was upright again. At least he had that going for him.  
“I can explain.” he began.  
“Explain what? How you used that poor man? Lied to get close to him? And then betrayed him like the monster you are?”  
“No. It’s not like that. I came back. I need to explain.”  
“We don’t need your explanations around here…”  
But his rant was cut short by a woman practically screaming, “Mr S. you stop all that carrying on this minute and let the boy talk.”  
And another softer voice said, “Crowley?”  
It was Madam Tracy and Azira. Madam Tracy was limping and Azira, still in his full angel costume, was supporting her weight. Was that what the squeal was for? Was she injured? Is that why Azira wasn’t at the stage on time?  
“Jezebel, you’re injured.” said Sargent Shadwell significantly softer than Crowley had ever seen him. Shadwell rushed to her side and took Azira’s place helping her to a chair. Azira on the other hand just stared, eyes full of astonishment, at Crowley as he dangled there helplessly.  
“You came back?”  
“I came back.”  
The audience watched in stunned silence for a moment, waiting to see what would happen next, but the two angels just kept looking at each other and eventually murmurs started around the crowd. 

R. P. Tyler, sensing a commotion and fuelled by the desire to both put an end to it and also be in the center of it, chose this moment to enter the stage.  
“Honored guests, I would like to take this unscheduled break in the play to inform you that we’ve counted what’s been gathered so far, and unfortunately it’s slightly less than a quarter of what’s needed to save Mr Fell’s shop, so if you could please dig deep and…”  
“A quarter!” exclaimed Crowley.  
R. P. Tyler bristled, “Yes. No thanks to some people. So we need…”  
“No. You don’t understand. That’s enough. It’s enough. It’s more than enough.”  
“I don’t think you understand.” R. P. Tyler was getting increasingly irate. “Thanks to you we need…”  
“I’ve already donated the other 90%.”  
“What?!”  
“I gave about 90% of what’s owed. It was everything I had but it wasn’t enough. If you’ve got a bit less than a quarter, then we have enough.”  
R. P. Tyler’s mouth opened and closed in stunned confusion.  
“Well put it all in an envelope and get it to a donation bin!”  
R. P. Tyler gaped a bit more.  
“Quickly man! And make sure it’s labeled correctly!”  
“Right. Right.” came the eventual response, then in confusion R. P. Tyler shuffled back off stage to do just that. 

The audience didn’t dare make a noise. 

Azira approached the hanging Crowley with eyes wide in awe and wonder. It almost made Crowley sick just to look at him. He felt his entire body blush.  
“You gave everything?”  
Crowley searched for words. “I had to.” he shook his head, “I mean I wanted to. I mean I finally figured out what I wanted from life, and to even have a chance at it I had to.”  
If the way Azira was looking at him before made him blush, then the way he was looking at him now made him fear he’d combust. There was no way Azira couldn’t see how this look was undoing him. There was no way he couldn’t have known that he was a man unraveling before him. And he was just going to let him hang there, vulnerable and exposed. Crowley took back everything he ever thought about this man being soft. He was a bastard. An absolute bastard. 

Azira reached up and took Crowley’s hand, pulling him downward until their faces met and he was kissing him. Azira was kissing Crowley and Crowley was kissing Azira. As far as they were concerned this was the best thing that’d ever happened to either of them. 

The crowd erupted into applause. Even those who had no idea what was going on still gave confused but enthusiastic applause. Nativity plays were rarely ever this interesting. From the side of stage came a sound which started as an “ah ha!” of someone solving a difficult mechanical problem, but rather quickly morphed into an “aaah” of someone realizing that he’d sent a man falling, admittedly only a few feet, to a hardwood stage. 

Azira caught him, or at least broke his fall successfully with very little damage beyond the loss of both their dignities.

Adam entered the stage this time and insisted that they leave so he could finish the play. He was very serious as only young boys can be. 

The audience did rather a lot more gossiping than watching for the last half of the nativity, but the last envelope was successfully labeled and in the donation bucket. The bookshop was saved. The town was saved. Azira Fell was saved. Anthony J Crowley was saved. 

Madam Tracy’s leg was also miraculously saved. When it was pointed out that she was walking on it just fine she gave a half-hearted “It’s a Christmas Miracle!” and Crowley gave her one of his best stares. 

“I mean really,” thought Crowley. Couldn’t everything that was achieved on that stage also be achieved with a nice private conversation. It would have all been a lot simpler if Azira was where he was supposed to be not helping eccentric women with their fake leg complaints. 

Madam Tracy and Anathema both grabbed their respective husbands, made their excuses, and before Crowley could say anything they hurried away. 

When it was all really over Crowley leaned against the stage, holding hands with an angel, and looked across the field at the small rare bookshop that’d caused so much trouble. It was all so very worth it, and it was worth everything he had.  
A gentle snow fall started.  
“It’s snowing.” said Azira.  
Crowley looked at him. “It is.”  
“We all know what you’re like driving in the snow.”  
“Oh do we?”  
“Yes.” A devilish smile crept across Azira’s face. “I think you’d better stay another night at my place.”  
“Oh really?”  
“Yes. It’s for your safety, you see.”  
“Well if it’s for my safety then I think I absolutely must stay.”

And Crowley did stay. It might have taken another year and a half for him to officially move in, but he stayed that night and never really left. A few phone calls was all it took for the highway to be diverted a few miles around the town, and for the roads linking Tadfield to the highway to be improved. Tourists had an easier time coming in from then on and the bed and breakfast saw much more business. Gabriel somehow turned the whole thing into positive press for him, even though he had nothing good to do with any of it. 

And to this day, somewhere in the back of one of the bookshop closets, hang two angel costumes kept in honor of how they met.

**Author's Note:**

> I did a real shallow dive on those tarot cards.  
devil = crowley.  
hanged man = change in perspective  
lovers = lovers  
king of swords = aziraphale 
> 
> also now that it's all over I have to admit that I don't even like christmas that much. but I do like the movies. and sydney/justin mcelroys "That's a christmas to me" which is where the inspiration to do a christmas AU comes from. 
> 
> I really hope you like it. I've never written anything more than 2k words before and I wrote all this in like 3 days. (though I plotted it all a few weeks earlier. someone might recognise the plot from tumblr. turns out it's much easier to do longer projects if you have a thorough plot first. who knew?)


End file.
